


Viral

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Computer Viruses, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:49:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on tumblr: A customer comes into Miyaji's shop with an unusual motivation and an annoying disposition</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viral

**Author's Note:**

> for butnolivingmanami on tumblr; hope you liked it!
> 
> prompt at: http://awful-aus.tumblr.com/post/119370789081/awful-au-278

“Kid, if you’re just here to flirt with me the answer is no. This is a business, so if you don’t have any then please leave.”

Hayama (as he’s reminded Miyaji of his name what feels like fucking eighty-seven times already and they only met twenty minutes ago) blinks up at him from the other side of the counter and then reaches into his bag. “But I do have business. I think my laptop has a virus. Can you fix it for me?”

Miyaji blinks, and Hayama slams a dusty old machine onto the counter. One side is cracked and a couple of the USB ports look totally broken. Miyaji squints--he’s flattered and all, but he’s here to do work and not to chat with annoying customers, so this had better not be an excuse to talk to him.

“How old is this thing?”

“Oh, about eight months.”

There’s no way. Then again, considering the last twenty minutes, he shouldn’t rule anything out. Hayama’s still beaming at him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Miyaji sighs.

“Okay, you have to sign this waiver; read it over first. We might have to reformat your hard drive in the worst case, so your data might be lost. What we charge depends on how much work we have to do--”

Hayama enthusiastically pushes the form across the counter. “Okay!”

“All right, now get out,” says Miyaji. “The store’s closing.”

“But I thought we--”

“Look, do you want me to fix your computer or not? Come back tomorrow, same time. Now leave.”

This time, he turns around. Miyaji glances down at the form.

“Hey! You forgot to write your password!”

“I don’t have one.”

This might just be terrible.

* * *

The first thing Miyaji does is blow the dust out of the keyboard with canned air and clean off the disturbingly sticky power cord. He resists the urge to go in and just wipe the hard drive and have it done with; as much as he dislikes Hayama he’s a paying customer and the only way Miyaji’s going to get better and more efficient with this kind of repair is to do more of them.

He boots up the computer (true to Hayama’s word, there is no password; Miyaji hadn’t known people could get away with not putting one on, even a simple thing like 12345) and scrolls through the list of installed programs. There are plenty of suspicious-sounding applications from unsourced publishers and useless add-on accessories, and no antivirus at all. He probably doesn’t have adblock either; Miyaji looks at the two browser icons. Hayama had to have actually installed Firefox, but he is definitely the type who’d use Internet Explorer, so Miyaji tries that one first. Either he’d cleared his history or he doesn’t use it, and there are no add-ons at all. Firefox, however, is a different story--Miyaji is greeted by several rows of toolbars and a list of most-visited sites that includes ad pages and very sketchy free porn sites. Miyaji sighs. This fucking kid. This is fucking gross and he does not get paid enough for this shit.

The add-ons section is a new nightmare, pages upon pages of useless things, all of which he disables and uninstalls. That might solve some things, but there might still be hidden viruses or worms that have found their way into the rest of the system.

He decides to start by uninstalling the sketchiest of the programs on the installed list. Well, “start” might not be the right word because Windows Explorer crashes halfway through the beginning of the uninstallation process and before he can hit control, shift, and escape the whole thing freezes up. He mashes the keys a few times before hitting the power button with another theatrical sigh. This is going to be a long fucking night.

* * *

Hayama practically fucking skips through the door and up to the desk, completely ignoring Miyaji’s glare. The lack of sleep is catching up to him and he feels like a fucking bear this close to hibernation but delayed on the way to his den by an annoying little chipmunk (not a cute chipmunk).

“Did you fix the virus?”

“Which one? You had like nine or ten of them. For fuck’s sake, kid, do you not know what an antivirus is?”

Hayama shakes his head. “But did you fix it?”

“Yes, I fucking fixed it. I had to wipe the hard drive and restore it; practically all of your files got corrupted anyway. And your history was full of all that porn--I mean, I’m not going to judge or anything, but those sites are the worst with pop up ads and shit, and so I installed adblocker and a bunch of free antivirus sofware, okay? These aren’t viruses; please don’t delete them.”

Hayama stares at him in wonder. “Wow, Miyaji-san, that’s so cool. You can do all that?”

“That’s what I get paid to do, yes,” Miyaji says--he lets himself smile, because hey, it’s not that often he gets appreciated in this business. “Anyway, do you know what private browsing is?”

Hayama shakes his head. Fucking typical, Miyaji rolls his eyes and powers on the machine.

“Okay, I also put a password in at the beginning when you start up. Right now it’s ‘password’ but you need to change it at some point. So anyway, you start Firefox. And then you hit the shift, control, and p keys. Can you show me that? No, not all at the exact time like that, you can--no, here, let me show you.”

He grabs the keyboard and demonstrates. “Okay, can you show me now?”

“Can I put my hand on top of yours and feel how you do it?”

Miyaji doesn’t stop to consider the logic of that statement (then again, with Hayama there might not be any) and considering his lack of competence it might actually help, so he nods.

“Again?” says Hayama a little too hopefully.

Miyaji yanks his hand away. “No.”

“But I wanted to touch Miyaji-san,” Hayama says, biting his lip and ah, fuck.

Miyaji runs a hand through his hair. “Listen, Kid--this is a business. I’m not here to flirt with you; I’m here to show you how to use your computer so you don’t fuck it up again, and you’re here to learn that, okay? Now do you want me to show you how to change your password?”

“But if only Miyaji-san and I know it, then it won’t be a problem, right?”

Miyaji sighs. “It’s an easy password; you need one that’s more secure.”

“Can it be your name?” says Hayama.

“No. Don’t tell me what it is; I don’t want to know. It’s your computer and you shouldn’t go around telling people the password. Look, I stayed up all night doing this and I don’t want--”

“You stayed up all night for me?”

Miyaji feels like smashing his face into the counter. “Just give me the money and take the computer and go home. We’re closing soon.”

“But--”

“Do it,” says Miyaji, and his glare has to sort-of work because Hayama takes out his credit card and hands it over.

Miyaji rings him up, gives him the receipt and a pen, but when he takes it back there’s a number written below the signature.

“What the hell is that?”

“My number,” says Hayama. “Call me sometime, okay?”

**And then he waltzes out. Miyaji looks down at the receipt--and no, he’s not memorizing the number. Okay, he might accidentally remember, but it’s not because he wants to see Hayama.**


End file.
